


Tears Saved for a Very Rainy Day

by insatiablegaydesire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, almost forgot to mention that, also note that this fic is mainly about Sirius and his own issues, and lastly, but this is more about Sirius rather than Sirius+Remus, enjoy your bucket of angst with a side of tears extra salty, he and remus are very much in love in the fic and show it a little bit, later on the other boys help too, ngl I cried quite a bit while writing this, remus helps, sirius has a very detailed breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 02:34:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8779711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insatiablegaydesire/pseuds/insatiablegaydesire
Summary: "Sirius was never fond of crying. Perhaps that's why he didn't often do so." 
Sirius has a breakdown one day during his school years, and Remus tries to help.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning: this is a very angst-filled fic in general, with it revolving mostly around child abuse (physical, emotional, even some neglect) and what could easily be described as a panic/anxiety attack (I drew from my own personal experience with anxiety, so it is quite detailed). If you are sensitive to these specific issues, please click away or read ahead with caution.
> 
> The Graphic Depiction of Violence is for a detailed account of a parent slapping a child. There are also some mentions of other instances, but they are not described much further than that.

Sirius was never fond of crying. Perhaps that's why he didn't often do so.

  
When he was a baby, he was rarely ever held, and certainly never rocked or soothed to sleep. He would cry out for a loving caress, a sign that he was not all alone in this huge world he had yet to know. He would not realize until years later that his cries were never even heard; being a witch had its perks, and Walburga Black liked to make use of silencing charms whenever possible.

  
In his toddler years, when he had started learning how to walk, he would often fall on the dark, hard wooden floors of the foyer. No one was there to pick him up. No one was there to kiss his injuries better, pat his head, and help him on his way. By this time, he also learned that crying never helped. So, he'd simply wait, crumpled on the wood like a pile of dirty robes, until someone would come and move him to where he was better off. He tried to keep his tears to a minimum, but sometimes he wasn't as successful at hiding them. Kreacher was instructed to stop the crying, however possible. He didn't like Kreacher.

  
His little brother Regulus also came around this time. Sirius knew he wasn't supposed to cry, so he tried to keep this new baby from doing it as well. If he heard the beginning of sniffles in the middle of the night, he'd rush to climb up the sides of the crib and lay with the swaddled child, trying to hush the cries so that Kreacher didn't come in and punish him. Sirius knew that this could get him in big trouble, but he also knew in his little heart that it was worth it.

  
So, he limited his crying, repressed all of his strong negative emotions, until one day, he needed to let them go.

  
He was first slapped by his mother at age seven.

  
By this time, to her dismay, she was personally involved in his preliminary education.She would make him practice his French until his tongue went numb and his mouth went dry from all the talking.

  
One time, he refused to speak. He sat in his chair, arms crossed, posture slouching, but stiffly held that way, because he knew his mother didn't like it. She let him be quiet and sit still for ten minutes. Upon realizing that waiting it out wouldn't make him do what she wanted, she tried a different approach.

  
“Sirius, do you know why we practice French so much?” she asked.

  
He didn't respond.

  
“It is my wish for you to be educated in the traditional language.” She paused, leaning down slightly to look him in the eye. “Do you not respect my wish?”

  
Fear flickered in his eyes for a moment, just a moment, but that was all Walburga needed.

  
“Come now, Sirius, be a good boy and practice your conjugation with me,” she said icily. He did not move any closer to the table, so she took it one step further, yanking his chin towards her and making him look directly at her face. “If you do not choose to talk, I may be able to settle for some simpler sounds.”

  
At the young age of seven, Sirius wasn't able to figure out exactly what she meant by this threat. He also didn't recognize the tone she was using, but would soon learn to fear it. But, as he was unknowing of what horrors could possibly come next, he stayed stubborn.

  
“Very well,” Walburga said, releasing his chin. He was relieved to be let go from such physical restraint, and reached a hand up to rub at the spot which his mother had clutched fiercely.

  
His hand never reached his face.

  
Instead, another hand had struck his cheek so forcefully that the resounding smack could be heard echoing in the quiet hall outside of the study.

  
He practiced his conjugation after that.

  
Once released from his studies, he retreated up to his room, and slipped into bed. He wanted to cry, wanted to let everything out, but found that he couldn't.

  
He thought that perhaps his eyes were broken.

  
He didn't cry again, or at least not truly, until he was sixteen.

  
It was a Wednesday afternoon, and students were all in their last class of the day, waiting on the edge of their seat until they could be released to spend the evening however they pleased. All students, except one.

  
Sirius, instead of sitting on a bench in potions brewing up a magical concoction, was facing a darkened corner, right arm extended above his head to block out the rest of the light pouring in from the window near James’ bed, sobbing, every once in a while gasping for air or hiccuping from the uncontrolled breathing his body was experiencing.

  
His thoughts were cluttered with shouted memories, tingling skin, looks on faces that he never wanted to see again. And strangely, numbers.

  
His mind jumped from topic to topic, moving around rapidly, almost matching the speed of his erratic intakes of breath.

  
He heard the shrill yell of, “An eternal embarrassment to the Black family name!”

  
Next came the burning sensation on his arm, like it was being slapped repeatedly with a leather cord. He knew it wasn't happening, or at least not at the current moment, but _it felt so real_. It felt like he had been transported back to when he was ten years old, caught going through the books in the office, and his father personally beat him for the first time.

  
Then, he saw Regulus’ stone cold expression after he came back home for the first time after being sorted into Gryffindor.

  
Then, back to the burning, but it was now on the back of his leg, on his upper calf.

  
Then, his mother’s constant sneer.

  
Then, his father’s constant silence, his constant ignorance that his oldest son was, in fact, still alive.

  
Then, the number 12, painted in gold on a dark plate, attached to the looming black door of the Black’s home.

  
Then, his cousin Bella’s whisper of, “Little Sirius, brightest star in the sky, not looking too bright now, huh?” followed by a high pitched cackle that would make the birds hide.

  
Then, the raised eyebrow that all of his parents’ friends wore when they saw that the Black’s despicable son still lived amongst what they considered the better part of the family.

  
Then, the number 25, which was how many points he'd lost Gryffindor due to almost setting fire to one of the curtains in the common room. He was only eleven at the time, and trying to burn up a howler from his mother before he was forced to open it up. It didn't burn, though, and immediately started screaming once the flame of the muggle lighter he’d found on the streets of London years ago touched it.

  
Then, the sight of his fourteen year old face in a mirror, bruised and swollen, splotches of purple surrounding his left eye in particular.

  
Then, the look in Remus’ eyes when Sirius walked into the infirmary the night after the full moon where he sent Snape into the Shrieking Shack.

  
Then, James’ yell of, “For once in your life, Sirius, stay out of this!”

  
Then, Peter’s slightly quieter, and a bit trembling, addition to James of, “He doesn't want to see you right now! He can’t!”

  
Then, the cold air hitting his skin as he stood at the edge on top of the Astronomy tower in the middle of a winter night, staring off into the distance, eyes partially glazed over by lack of sleep.

  
Then, the numbing sensation that covered his hands as he sat with them buried deep in the snow, face blank, during one of the few times he went back to visit his family for Christmas break.

  
Then, Kreacher’s crackly voice, calling out to him when he was a toddler, telling him to come out or else.

  
Then, lastly, the number 37. It was the number of times he had considered leaving this life that he had taken a part of for, in his opinion, far too long. He was afraid to admit it, but for most of these times, his solution of choice was death. He was convinced that there was no other way to truly escape his past.

  
He probably would have gone on thinking for hours and hours longer, if not for the high pitched screech of the door to the dorm being opened. Sirius gasped, and swallowed hard, trying to put the tears to an immediate stop, but to no avail. He hiccuped, and another set of sobs had to be let go, along with a small scream.

  
A set of heavy footsteps pounded against the wooden floor until the body they belonged to reached Sirius’ left side. Remus dropped down to the level of his boyfriend, dropping a hand on Sirius’ shoulder.

  
Sirius immediately recoiled from the touch with an exceptionally loud cry, huddling further into the corner. He couldn't see Remus’ face, but he knew he was shocked.

  
Sirius always loved being touched by Remus, he was constantly cuddling up to the other boy’s side, tracing the freckles on his arm, sometimes begging for his long hair to be played with, maybe even braided or styled.

  
The fact that he was not accepting the touch, outwardly rejecting it without a moment’s hesitation, it was unheard of. Of course Remus knew some about his home life, of the few physical abuses he’d told all of the Marauders, but it had never affected their relationship. Until now.

  
“Padfoot...” Remus said softly.

  
At the mention of the familiar, loving nickname, Sirius had to bite down on his cheek to keep the volume of his breakdown from increasing.

  
Remus sighed, and shifted on the ground so that his back was against the wall. He was maybe two, three inches from Sirius’ side. Far enough not to disturb, but close enough for his boyfriend to know that he was there when he needed him.

  
So, they stayed like that, Sirius facing the wall and Remus facing the beds, trying not to look in Sirius’ direction too often in case being watched would contribute more to the attack. Together, they waited it out.

  
Thankfully, that particular afternoon, James and Peter had decided to study in the library together, so Sirius didn't have to deal with any more unwanted interruptions.

  
About an hour later, Sirius’ crying had muffled quite a bit. He had gone in and out of moments with quiet sniffing and loud sobbing. He slowly turned away from the dark corner, used his thumbs to wipe away the remaining tears from beneath his eyes, and wordlessly slumped against Remus’ shoulder.

  
Within seconds, a hand was tentatively combing through his dark hair, tucking a little of the left side behind his ear. When Sirius relaxed into the touch, Remus hugged him closer.

  
“If or when you want to talk about it, I'll be here waiting,” Remus said, pressing a light kiss to the top of Sirius’ forehead.

  
Sirius sighed, burrowing in further to Remus’ frame. He croaked out in a wrecked voice, “I don't usually cry this much.”

  
“I know,” Remus said. “That's why I'm even more concerned.”

  
“Everything is just so overwhelming.” Another tear slipped out, and Sirius quickly wiped it away.

  
“Maybe we can try and simplify it?” Remus asked. He gently tapped Sirius’ chin, a signal telling him to look up.

  
When Sirius turned his head, he saw Remus freeze. He knew why; Remus had never seen him like this. Merlin, Sirius had probably never even seen _himself_ like this. He was sure that his eyes were red, along with the rest of his face, and his lip felt split from all the stress he was putting on his mouth to stop it from trembling.

  
Soon after, though, Remus seemed to snap out of the initial surprise. “Can you tell me why you never came back to Potions class after excusing yourself to the bathroom?”

  
Sirius inhaled deeply once, held the breath for three seconds, then slowly let it out. “Mulciber. He said something when he passed me to get his ingredients.”

  
Remus nodded, encouraging him to keep on talking.

  
“He,” Sirius’ voice cracked. “He told me something that I hadn't heard for a long time.”

  
“What did he say?” Remus prompted with a quiet voice, soothing some of the worry that Sirius had felt building up in his system.

  
“He told me that I’d be better off dead.”

  
Remus stiffened upon hearing this, probably already planning on how exactly to get back at the Slytherin boy for saying such a terrible thing.

  
“Moony...” Sirius said. “I- I don't think I've ever really told you much about my home life.”

  
“Shh, Pads, not now,” Remus said, slightly rocking Sirius in his arms. “Give it some time. You're at the height of some very strong emotions. Please don't add on to that already heavy load.”

  
Sirius muttered an, “Okay,” in agreement, then buried his face into his boyfriend’s shoulder.

  
“Later, I promise, when you're feeling a bit better, we'll talk about it,” Remus said.

  
Sirius smiled slightly, for the first time in a while.

  
“But, for now,” Remus said, a little cheerier than usual, “we sleep!” He picked up Sirius bridal-style, which elicited a startled laugh out of the boy in his arms.

  
“Merlin, do you know how much I weigh?” Sirius said, a bit amazed. “How the fuck are you even able to lift me up?”

  
Remus rolled his eyes, dropping Sirius onto his bed. “Love, I'm a werewolf. That strength doesn't just completely go away after the transformation.” He dropped beside his boyfriend, immediately pulling him close again.

  
Sirius grinned as he looked into Remus’ adoring eyes. “I love you.”

  
Remus rubbed a circular pattern into Sirius’s hip. “I love you too. But if we're going to sleep, we should probably get out of these dress shirts. And slacks.” He ran his eyes down Sirius’ body, all while his fingers traced up, lifting the crumpled white shirt ever so slightly.

  
Sirius scoffed, shoving Remus so that he rolled over. “Going after a damsel in distress in such a sexual manner, you should be ashamed of yourself, Moony!” He chuckled a little despite trying to keep up the act.

  
Remus rolled back, a single raised eyebrow being his only comeback. “At least I made the damsel laugh. And when the damsel laughs, well, I can't help but feel anything but ashamed.”

  
A larger, serene smile grew across Sirius’ features. “You're such a dork.”

  
An equally as large and serene smile grew across Remus’ features as well. “Yes, but I'm your dork.”

  
Just then, the door to the dorm opened, and Peter and James walked in, chattering amongst themselves about Dumbledore’s beard.

  
Remus’ smile dimmed, and he whispered to Sirius, “I can tell them to go away.”

  
“Nah,” Sirius said, “don't do that.”

  
Then, he shouted, “Prongs! Wormtail! It's time for a one-bed cuddle party!”

  
Without any hesitation, James let out a whoop and jumped into bed with them. Remus groaned as James landed on his leg, and Sirius laughed, which in turn caused Remus to laugh as well, despite his pain.

  
Peter followed next, settling onto the foot of the bed because there wasn't much room anywhere else, positioned so that he was still facing the other three boys.

  
Sirius sighed contentedly, mind already starting to move past the sorrows he was so focused on earlier.

  
Yeah, his life was hard, much harder than most, but why should he complain when he’s got his best friends and boyfriend at his side, making him laugh and feel better in an instant?

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this. It's my first time writing true angst in a fanfiction, and I was a little surprised by how therapeutic it felt to get the words down. I hope you have or are having or had a wonderful day. :)


End file.
